So last you knew, I basically looked like this, right? I believe this was at 35 weeks, 6 days.
This is roughly what I look like right now.
Actually, it’s mostly genetics and breastfeeding, also some portion control and running around after an almost-three-year-old.
Let me back up and explain why I’ve been MIA since, like, 36 weeks.
OMG DID YOUR OVARIES NOT JUST EXPLODE?!
This is my son, Lucas. He was born on December 27. I was 37 weeks exactly. He is absolute perfection, just like his older brother.
I still cannot fit in my pre-pregnancy jeans. I know, that picture is deceiving.
I had a lot of people, when I was, pregnant, ask me if I was in regular clothes, and basically, if I’d “gained any weight at all besides the belly?!” My response was always, “I’m all ass and thighs this time around.” As opposed to the way I was with Logan, where I wore my pre-pregnancy jeans to the hospital when I went INTO LABOR. And nobody believed I had gotten way big in that general area. Well, anyone who doubted can watch me as I do The Jeans Dance to put on my favorite pre-pregnancy pants, which weren’t even particularly tight when I got pregnant.
Actually, you can’t, because that would be creepy, not to mention probably turn into one of my lowest self-esteem moments of all time.
Anyway, now onto Lucas’ birth story. Because I over-share like that.
The 26th was the day we did our big Christmas dinner with my parents. My brother would have been there, but he was at USAF Basic Training, and my sister-in-law-to-be moved out of state with her family when he left. So it was the five of us, and we had dinner and hung out and talked and laughed and basically made ourselves merry.
But not in a weird way, kind of like that came out.
I’ve had sciatica for a long time. My chiropractor has to fix it basically every time I go to him for an adjustment. It’s a pain I’m used to, and it was pretty fierce this pregnancy. But on the night of the 26th, it was horrendous. I couldn’t do anything to relieve the pain, and the stretches the chiropractor had given me to do weren’t working in the slightest. I felt the pain all the way down to my ankle, which is way farther down my leg than I’d ever felt it.
My mom said she wondered if I was maybe in the beginning stages of back labor, but since I wasn’t due for 22 days, and since Logan was eight freaking days late, and since I was tentatively scheduled for induction at 39 weeks, I was SURE it wasn’t labor. Just Lucas settling further down. But my mother said over and over, “I don’t think you’re making it to term with this one.” Prophetic.
We went back to our new place for our first night as a whole family, and Andy and I watched Taken. We finally decided to turn the lights out and go to bed at about 2 am (we’re night owls, don’t judge), and we brought Logan into our bed with us, because we didn’t want him waking up in a brand new room in the middle of the night and freaking out, not knowing where we were. I laid on my side, by Logan, and the pain in my hips was unbearable. I rolled over once. Twice. Three times. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew I was in enough pain by 2:30 am that there was no way I was going to sleep that night. I started pacing by the bed, then realized that what I was feeling were actually contractions. They got more intense as I paced, and I woke up Andy.
He kept asking if I was in labor, and I KEPT SAYING NO, because I was only JUST 37 weeks (which is technically term, meaning they won’t stop your labor once you hit this point), and there was no way he was making his appearance this early. In any case, my contractions weren’t regular; I would get three or four back to back, with about twenty-second breaks in between, then I would go for ten minutes without one.
I walked around the house, took a shower, drank an entire bottle of water in about 90 seconds, and timed my contractions. All the things They tell you to do when you think you’re in labor. Oh, they also tell you something about the contractions being so bad “You can’t talk through them.” That was definitely the case by 3:15 am, when I got out of the shower. But the contractions wouldn’t regulate, so I absolutely denied that I could be in true labor.
Recall that I was induced with Logan, and had no idea what it felt like to go into true labor naturally, much less BACK LABOR.
All of my prenatal care had been done an hour north of where we’re living now, and they were as sure as I was, given Logan’s tardiness out of the womb, that I could at least make it to my tentative induction date at 39 weeks, so I wouldn’t have to do the is-it-labor-or-is-it-not dance, and have to make sure I drive all the way up there too early, so I’d be sent home (because I’d have nowhere to go except back down here, and it would be a huge waste of time and gas), or too late, so I’d end up delivering on the side of the highway on my way up there. Because, seriously, guys, Andy’s and my cars are both messy enough from the move. The last thing either of them needed was amniotic fluid and afterbirth all over the passenger’s seat.
So I called my midwife’s answering service at 3:30 to describe what was happening and ask what she advised. The answering service dispatcher guy called both numbers he had for her, and paged her. She was supposed to call me back within fifteen minutes. She did not. So I called again, and dispatcher man called and paged all of her numbers yet again, and also called and paged another midwife, who was not even associated with the midwifery group where I had my care done. MY midwife never called back, but the auxiliary midwife did, as we were on our way to my parents’ house at almost 4 am to drop Logan off because I was in so much pain, there was no way we were NOT going to a hospital. Any hospital. Auxiliary Midwife knew nothing about me, my pregnancy, my situation (living forever away from the hospital), and therefore, her advice to wait until the contractions were five minutes apart was totally useless. That actually would have been useless advice from anyone, since, even by the time I delivered Lucas, my contractions hadn’t regulated.
She said that I could just head into the nearest hospital and have them put me on the monitor for the customary two hours, to see what my contractions looked like, and whether I was dilating, and other gross lady business. She also sounded like she just wanted me to get off the phone, and as quickly as possible, so she could go back to sleep.
I told Andy there was no way I was sitting in the car for what would probably end up being about an hour and a half to make it to the hospital at which I had all my prenatal care. Take me to the closest labor and delivery unit.
Long story short (and less graphic), they put me on the monitor, then made me walk for an hour, and my contractions regulated to 3-4 minutes apart, and were all in my back. I felt like my sacrum was literally being crushed. They put me back on the monitor, checked me again, and made me walk for ANOTHER hour. I was so sure they were going to send me home, I sat in the hallway, crying, because I hadn’t had a contraction in nine minutes, but the day nurse came in after consulting with the OB on call and said, “If you want to go ahead and get your stuff together, we have a room ready for you.”
I don’t remember ANYTHING about actually receiving the epidural when I had Logan. Not how it felt, not if it hurt, not how long it took…nothing. So getting it this time was way less than fun and comfortable. It was miserable and it felt like there were bubbles riding up my spine as he finished placing it. Also, it took FOREVER AND EVER.
My father-in-law was in the delivery room, except when they checked me and when I was pushing, along with my sister-in-law, my mom, and Andy.
Unlike with Logan, I felt enough pressure/pain (yes, I swear, it was PAIN by the time he was ready to come out) to sort of know when I needed to push, and when they asked why I hit the call button at noon on the 27th, I believe my exact words, between contractions that had me pounding my fist on the bed rail, were, “SOMETHING IS EITHER GOING TO POP OR FALL OUT OF ME!”
Fifteen minutes and four or so contractions later…
Well, this was about two hours later, but you get what I mean.
He is perfect, just like his wonderful, surprisingly not jealous at all, older brother.
Now, I hate to cut this short, but I felt I needed to update you, and in so doing…you know, retelling the story, and looking at all these pictures, and getting all emotional…let’s just say I need to feed Lucas. Like now.
Nursing moms know what I mean.
Oh teh feelz, guyz.
Now just sit there and let your womb glow. I know, my kids have that effect on people.